In The Beginning
by broken handed
Summary: The day Hermione reunited with Snape, it had been a sunny morning. The day Hermione left to meet Tom Riddle, it was a deary summer afternoon. The Story of The Death Eater. going under a LONG REVISION PERIOD. Or something.
1. 0

In the Beginning

Summary: Time Travel with a twist. A man who should have died helps a girl that had died years ago. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape and their role in a war that, for them, cannot end. A story on how The Death Eater was born.

AU

Broken-Handed has inserted a disclaimer.

Will be slow to update.

* * *

**0 - Soul of a Soldier.**

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They are alone together, one last time.

"There will be no regrets." He warned, casting a spider web of power from his wand.

"I understand." She whispered, letting the weight of her oath fill her and rob her of herself, only for it travel into his web of power.

"_There can be no regrets_." He spoke harsher this time, as if hoping to make her stray this from this hard, hard path before her.

"Then there will be none." She reasoned, letting her last bit of logic soothe her. Reason and facts and cold truth, those were her lullabies and comforts of yesterday. She wondered what sort of solace she would be able to find (she prayed to god every night and morning for the past month that she would find a new hope) tomorrow and the next day and the next day and the times after right now.

She did not break her stare with his blinding wand and magical self that seemed to be crouching down on her, but she knew what would have been in his eyes had she broken the spell and looked up. She knows that there would be disgust at the thought of her future (or was it past?) actions, a bit of respect for her and his ever-present morbid curiosity of where her strength came from. And guilt, guilt, guilt. Always, he looked on with guilt. She wonders for a brief moment how she had never noticed until now how guilt and remorse seem to live in his eyes even as he spoke of never to regret and yearn. It was ironic, and if she wasn't going to die so soon, she would have laughed.

She wants to pretend that had she looked up, there would have been more in his gaze, but she is not stupid and so does not entrain those thoughts.

She will die in a few hours, moments, minutes, days, seconds – she will die in a few time away, and she is almost wistful to look, but does not.

Her eyes follow the wand, the magic now facing her and getting ready to eat her up – her meat, her bones, her blood, her magic, _her soul_. It will eat all of her up, all of her up so that not even the world would be able to touch her again.

"It is time." She doesn't reply because she does not want to. Her affairs had been taken care of: her confused boys were subdued to avoid the risk of them getting reckless and stopping her; her mother and father were sent letters; her mentors were sent little good-byes; and her others that had filled her heart were given the rest of what made her, her.

Really, there was nothing else to do but go away, away, away.

"Good-bye, Miss Granger."

"Good-bye, Professor Snape."

_I will see you in the ending._

She was allowed to look up as the magic licked and chewed and ate her up.

Looking back, she wonders why she didn't.

She might have seen him cry if she had.

* * *

_It had been nine years since the war had ended, and yet her body was still restless while her soul was _hurting, hurting, hurting.

_On the ninth year after That Man's death, it was a clear day and the birds were chirping and the grass still had morning dew on them and she opened a door to stop a persistent knocking, only to see –_

"_What is this?" Hermione Granger vaguely recalls the last time her voice was so frigid, Bellatrix was still alive. She recalls the last time her heat wanted to flee from her body in frenzy was when Ron had told her he loved her. That was years ago._

"_I need to come in."_

"_Dead men don't need anything." He sighed before giving her a _look_. She wondered if this was how Neville Longbottom felt so long ago._

"_I still need to come in, child." She gave him a good long stare before opening her house to him, all tall and lanky and dark, even against the early morning sun. She let the old routines of making tea for a guest calm her down. Once all was settled, she questions him if this was a dream. She would not be surprised if it was – not much surprises her now._

"_Miss Granger, I need a favor to ask of you…"_

"_I doubt I can offer any help, Professor." His look almost made her want to take it back. Almost._

"…_All I ask of you for now is to listen to my story." His look was stubborn and she sighed._

"…_Alright, Professor Snape. Confess away."_

_Had she promised to not have any regrets, she would have looked back and wished she had slammed the door in his greasy face._

* * *

TBC

Oh yea, before I forget - I need a beta. Who wants to help?

This is going to be weird. And…yea. Weird. Lots of eating in the future.


	2. 1

In the Beginning

Summary: After Time Travel with a twist. A man who should have died helps a girl that had died years ago. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape and their role in a war that, for them, cannot end. A story on how The Death Eater was born.

AU

Broken-Handed has inserted a disclaimer.

Will be slow to update – watch out for the flash backs now – they are a doozy!

* * *

**1 - Fill Me Up With Brimstone.**

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_Why is it dark? Why did god hide away the stars and sun and moon?_

Nonetheless, she tried to find light, to head toward it, even as her innards squirmed and deadened, even as her soul cried at the injustice of it all…she looked for the light. She believed and remembered a dark man, a man who held shimmering magic in his hands a life time ago. Because she let him into her home once and he never went away – he is alive because she is not dead yet, traveling in his magic and letting it fade away for all that is holy and sinful to gorge themselves on her soul and mind and heart. She believed in their plan and searched for the light, the Magic.

She does not need to wait long – time and magic were always hungry, hungry, _hungry_.

She can't hear, but she imagines herself to be screaming, an inhumane screech that turns the universe on its head. She knows that her yells and pleas and begging and screaming can be heard from all the way up into hell to all away down to heaven and she still screams, wondering if someone, something, would come and wrench away this hurt before she goes, because surely she is _going to die right now if nothing comes to help her _– _God, Oh God, I am going to, I really am –_

Dead.

She is limp now, and time steps back, licking its chops and letting magic have a turn. To tear the rest of this person, this being, to shreds because they can and humans should know not to meddle with time and try to control magic far older than them.

The warmth in her fingertips barely cools before Severus Snape's spell, fueled by promises and fate and reluctance and everything that was him jumped from its hiding place and onto magic itself. His will that still held the spider web of power together wrestled and tumbled with magic before breaking it apart and lassoing it back into the limp form. Her body was bombarded by magic, raw and so natural, her body felt unnatural and hurt and confused and this is how she is reborn.

She is unnatural for being forced into a reincarnation that should not have happened. And yet she is filled with magic so pure and natural that she just _is_ and exists now, human and un-human all at once.

A loop of memories is formed, false and real at the same time and goes to her to soothe her because the old memories need to go – each one that was tied to her old soul must go away now or she can not be alive. While the spider web allows it, it secretly catches fragments and knowledge and little bits for her, because as her soul is recycled and the tamed magic fills and makes her new self, the spider web will not allow time to un-loop and stubbornly holds onto Hermione Granger's memories for her and the universe's sake.

* * *

There is light.

She knows this because she can see a buzzing red against her eyelids. She knows this because in the back of her mind, she remembers that the date is May 6, 1925, and she vaguely, curiously, wonders what she is. It is a wandering thought, as senseless and useless as a wispy cloud on a hot dry day, but nonetheless, she captures it with clumsy fingers and draws it near. What she is…who she is…a skill she does not remember learning is used on instinct, and she stretches her magic out to feel, only to gasp and tuck it back in with a confused fright. She gasped at the pain as magic seemed to tear her insides apart. Her insides that make her, her, squirms at the innate fear and her logical mind can not find an answer.

Magic is natural to her, and it _is_ her and it is what makes her. But this is a magic that does not make sense – it is magic that lives in air and time and space, but _shouldn't be in her_. It…the magic that thrummed in others – should be humming in her – seemed to turn on her.

She is scared and opens her eyes.

Grass, tall as her knees and still wet with morning dew, kisses her face and she scrunches her nose as she tries to recall what has happened.

She remembers a light that was, or was not there.

A man, tall and dark and lanky, is standing by with his magic, shining and crouching, as if ready to eat her all up.

His magic was so fine and powerful, it became a spider web to cocoon her from a hunger that was directed at her, only for it to step back and let it consume her –

But –

Slender hands stumbled and clutch at arms.

But –

Fingertips, white as bleached snow scramble and touch its owner's face. Brown hair. Pale brown eyes. Pert nose. Thin lips.

But –

She is confused – her mind is stretching too much as well, and she is certain she is not herself. A part of her knows she is dead…Right?

-

"_There will be no regrets." _

_-_

Why is she still alive?

Didn't it…

_-_

"_I understand."_

_-_

Didn't magic, so old and right and just swoop down at her to gobble her up? Had she dreamt it, or was it real? Was she dead or was she alive? Was her name…what is her name now – who was she now?

Was she insane?

-

"_There can be no regrets_."

-

A mantra of no regrets, no regrets, _no regrets,_ is thrumming through her mind and she feels as if her veins burn from the voice that speaks the words. It's a voice that sounds like hers, yet echoes from a lifetime ago, when she might have known a tall man dark as night and thin as a pole. Perhaps…

Regrets?

-

"_Then there will be none."_

_-_

What regrets? She did not have regrets – she doesn't understand, because she can only see memories that she knows are her own, and yet not her own at the same time. The confusion warring in her is pain, but all she can tell right now, hoping and praying that that _infernal chanting – regrets, regrets, Good-bye Miss Granger, no regrets, an oath, a mission, Miss Granger, no regrets_ – will stop, is that she has no regrets.

She has no regrets.

And as if the sun had dimmed only to implode into a starburst of blinding light and enlightenment, she feels another foreign magic in the back of her skull awaken and unravel, spreading fine tendrils of will and promises and magic through her. A magic fine like silk, that it is a spider web of might.

_Let me show you. Remind you. Give you. Save you._ A voice that was as dark and smooth as its owner rang out through the confusions her body was throwing about and she wonders where she had heard it before. It was a beautiful voice and she nodded. Anything to stop herself from saying she should not be; that she is a _wrong_.

She sat back down to close her eyes, letting familiar and burning bright power embrace and cocoon her. She felt safe. For a moment, she felt safe.

_**.**_

"_Oh, magic? Are you doing some right now? Let's see then."_

_**.**_

"_Bloody nightmare, she is!"_

_**.**_

"_I do not remembering asking for your prattle, you little know-it-all."_

_**.**_

"_I – I would _love_ to go to the Yule Ball with you!"_

_**.**_

"_Ron – I – I can't. I don't love you."_

_**.**_

"_Harry! Harry, run! God damn it, run away _now_ – there's too many of them!"_

_**.**_

"_Make a wish, Hermione!"_

"_I'm too old for that, mum!"_

"_You're only ten, though! I – Oh! Did – did your cake just turn _green_?!"_

_**.**_

"_I need to come in, child."_

"…_Is…is this a dream, Professor?"_

_**.**_

"_Not Spew, it's _called_ S.P.E.W.!"_

_**.**_

"_It will eat you all up."_

_**.**_

"_Deatheaters! My go – RUN!"_

_**.**_

"_This will help you. You'll be grateful when the time comes. You will need it in order to make time right again. Only hope you are…deposited somewhere relatively safe from prying eyes – I doubt it will be quick."_

"_Because we all know I yearn to remember my soul being destroyed, right?"_

"_You will be reminded of what's important; what your new soul needs to remember."_

"_And that is…?"_

"_Perhaps everything. What your magic once was. Who you were, a life time ago."_

"_Magic, huh?"_

"_You are a being of magic. Therefore, magic _is_ you."_

"_I like to think of myself as just me. Hermione Jean Granger."_

"_You don't get the luxury, girl."_

"_It's still a nice dream, isn't it?"_

_**.**_

"_It's Wing-__gar__-dium Levi-__o__-sa, and make the 'gar' nice and long."_

_**.**_

"_Good-bye, Miss Granger."_

_**.**_

"_I love you, Hermione. So much, so, so much. _Please_…"_

_**.**_

"…_I could use the company."_

"_I doubt you want mine."_

"_The fact that I'm seeking yours should show how desperate I am."_

_**.**_

"_Will you remember me? Hermione Granger, that is."_

_**.**_

"_I will have to kill you. Is that, is that alright?"_

_**.**_

"_Foolish mudblood _whore_."_

_**.**_

"_Hermione! You can't stay in there forever!"_

"_Hermione, Hermione! I know you're in there!"_

_**.**_

"_Duty! Regret! Hexes and shields and – and _HER!_ Always, always you speak of these – these –"_

"_Calm yourself, Granger; do not let the infamous Gryffindor temper interfere with your inability to focus your mind – it did not work for Potter, it will not work for you."_

"_Shut-_up_, Snape! I – I'm sick and tired of your, your abuse! We both know for all you're a git, you're a smart git! So use what little mind you have left from the war – _I am not her!_ I am Hermione Jean Granger! There's more to life – to _my_ life – than your stupid vow and duty!"_

"_No, Miss Granger, there is not – not anymore. You forfeited it when you let me into your…humble housing weeks ago. All this training, planning, and lessons on _his_ character is to help you on your mission – you lost the right to name yourself as Hermione Granger long, long ago…not too much of a lost, I must admit."_

"_You, you _miserable git_!"_

"_Spare me your attempts at rebellion, you daft ninny. We both know you will not run from this – your foolish Gryffindor sensibility won't allow it. Do not even try with that feeble growl – do you truly think _you_ intimidate _me? _Filch's mangled feline holds more threat. Your role in the war is of the upmost importance – to set the board in place for our victory. To prevent the Dark Lord's immortality."_

"…_You can't even say his name."_

"_No, no I can not. But neither can you, or the next you; whichever you prefer."_

"_Wipe that smirk off your face, you snarky arse. I _hate_ you."_

"_Then hate me, Granger, so long you learn from me. Do not think for a moment that this has ever changed our position; you are still a vain know-it-all and I your teacher, unfortunately. Use your anger, your hate, your frustrations to fuel your spell work and your life, as well as mine, will be infinitely easier…"_

_**.**_

"_Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to you!"_

_**.**_

"_Cor, Hermione! You're, you're a little scary sometimes, you know? I – I mean, wa-wait Hermione!"_

"…_Nice going, Ron."_

"_Shut-up Harry."_

_**.**_

"_And _why_ would I want to speak to the likes of _you_? Weirdo!"_

"_Sh – Shut-up!"_

"_Bookworm, bookworm, what a freak!"_

_**.**_

"_It is important that you are willing."_

"_Well, it's happened before – it'll happen again. I'm sure I'll find good reason to _die_ during the training."_

"_Spare me your histrionics, Granger."_

"_No regrets, right? Well, I'm going to have to find fun somewhere else, you know?"_

"_Incorrigible know-it-all."_

"_I try. Git."_

_**.**_

"_It's about…oh; I don't know how to explain it! Time, I suppose. Time and death and life."_

"_Hermione, please don't tell me you're doing something stupid."_

_**.**_

"…_Make the 'gar' nice and long."_

_**.**_

"_Congratulations, Miss Granger. Certainly the brightest witch of you time!"_

"_Thank you, Professor. I'll miss Hogwarts a lot!"_

_**.**_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I _mean_, why would I name myself such a name? Or did you choose it?"_

"_You future self was the one who met _me_; it is safe to say _you_ named yourself, Miss Granger."_

"_It's a stupid name – I'm sure I have more class than _that_."_

"_Maybe no one named you. Squandering time on time travel and its' mechanics will not let you off training, child."_

"_Still a stupid name."_

_**.**_

"_Those faeries of yours don't exist, Miss Granger."_

"_Tell _that_ to the ones buzzing around your head, Professor."_

"…_I don't see any, child."_

"_Then pretend they're there."_

_**.**_

"_Good-bye, Professor Snape."_

_**.**_

She screamed this time and the world broke.

Her throat clenched as she gave another dry sob for her life that once was and the conclusion that the spider web – now dead and gone, or perhaps hidden away – gave her about her new one and she cried and cried, and cried. She was wrong and born without innocence – her birth was built on grim duty and oaths and roles and the heavy burden that should not be on her shoulders. She was built and assembled backwards – all _wrong_, but she felt right because the magic in her was not fighting her to kill and eat her up again, and, and – her confused tears drowned out her thoughts and swept logic out – old aged reflexes kicked in and her body vented out the wrong in her to survive for surely if she didn't act now she would die _again and again and again_.

* * *

Sleep found her and hugged her until she blanked out in that field, and she was grateful. Her soul needed healing and her magic (foreign and yet a friend) wished to heal.

When she woke up, days, months, years, later, she felt ordered and understood her world just a bit better.

She felt broken and perverted, but what counted was that she felt whole and, in the end, she felt glorious. So wrong but _still alive_, she was shining, her power, her abilities to live on, even when the magic swirling around her threatened her sanity – she was happy to be alive, to help win a war that hadn't even started yet. She got up and stretched, letting kinks in her back snap and the moon's rays cast cool light upon her back.

It was time to get going – the dark man whose name (not important anymore, but it would be nice to know) she didn't remember had taught her many things and she needed to learn it again, meet others again, find the things that made her old self again.

The world – new and old – needed to be learnt again.

* * *

Diagon Alley was as bustling and dirty as she remembered it to be. As the short witch strode onwards through the crowd, she eventually made a stop at a store, squished between a dingy restaurant and old, musty bookshop. Pushing the door, an old bell tinkered, letting an equally old man start from his mid-afternoon nap.

"Eh?" Catching sight of the woman, he tossed today's paper from his chest and got up from the counter to ambled his way to her. "What'd ye want so earl' in the morn, lass?" Her brow furrowed at his accent and she gave him a thin smile.

"Not much. I want to give a gift, you see. Something nice for a young boy." The storekeeper cast a warily glance around the room.

"Ye don't want anything here."

"No, this is the perfect place. Plenty of snakes for a growing boy."

"Ye're barmy! Ye'd kill the lad – these here snakes 're all poisonous!"

"I know." Her smiled scared him, and he could only shudder before helping her pick out a snake and wrap it up. Surprisingly, she picked a baby, whose poison could barely hurt a babe. As he counted the change, he took another look over at the slightly disheveled stranger and frowned.

"Lass, what happen' to ye?"

She gave him a wry chuckle and shrugged. "Not much; slept in a field then decided to travel. I just got back from atop a camel, actually." He nodded with an air of understanding and pushed the box to her.

"Ah, I git it now. Hope he gits bit plenty, then, lass. Though I don't know how such a wee mite could hurt…"

She chuckled and walked out. The old store keep shook his head at the vindictiveness of women and went back to his newspaper, crumpled, but still legible. The date, June 19, 1939, was covered as he turned the page.

* * *

He let his second-hand trunk thump to the floor of his dusty and run down room before strolling out to the back of the orphanage. The mixed emotions he felt in coming back to the muggle world made him frown – it was disheartening to leave his new world, but part of him was glad – here in his little world the people around him feared him. In the _magical_ world, the world that was better and more powerful and more interesting, he was nothing. Nothing but a pureblood's whipping boy. He scowled at any of the fellow children he passed, half disgusted by them, half angry that even in the magical world he was not accepted. Especially angry that he was weak, that after eleven years of controlling others around him, he could not do the same at Hogwarts – they saw him as a mudblood and therefore were out of his reach.

As he sat on the porch, twirling a weed in his finger tips, a high pitched voice, almost hissing, caught his ear and his eyebrows rose.

"_I am hungry!"_ Following the sound, he turned his eyes upward; he spotted a wand sticking in a woman's hair and he snarled.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

A woman, bushy hair pulled into a frizzy bun, with light brown eyes and thin lips smiled like a shark down at him.

"Hello, hello, Mr. Tom Riddle. My name is Mary-Bell."

* * *

"_What is this nonsense?" she hissed and he felt her mind recoil away from the implications and history and future he presented to her. He grappled for patience and exhaled slowly. "Are you lying to me?"_

"_Miss Granger, I do not have time to deal with empty-headed logic. Refrain from showing your slow side so we can continue along."_

"_What?! How do I know you're telling the truth? Why should I believe a dead man?!" He swung around to face her, his eyes blazing._

"_We both know that I am not lying! You stupid girl, do I look dead? Do I _look_ like the sort to waste my time pulling elaborate and meaningless hoaxes?"_

"_I still want proof." Her pout reminded him that she was still so much like a child and for a moment, he felt wrong and evil for pushing her future onto her. Giving in, he told her another story – damn the world, how he hated adjusting to ungrateful brats...His story was about a father who built rose gardens filled with fairies for his little girl and a mother who baked sweet and sour blackberry pies that melted down people's throats. It was a story filled with adventure regarding a girl with bushy, frizzy hair and her two male companions whose hearts were in the right place, but their IQs were equivalent of rocks'. He narrated his story of a little girl's childhood until he saw a look of disbelief and slight horror cross her eyes._

"…_Is that enough?"_

"_How do you know all this?" her voice was strained and scared and he hoped that in the coming months he would teach her enough about things that should truly frighten her._

"_You told me, long ago." Still seeing her reluctant face, he dragged his hand over his face in frustration. "Miss Granger, we are both aware of your intelligence, which is thankfully, higher than the norm. Yet, you seem to be possessed by a simpering first-year Hufflepuff. I know that you've read Plussey's __Magik and Mysteries__. You know how to feel what is right with you soul and magic – do not test my already thinning patience." He almost saw gears and clogs spin and wind in her mind at his latest statement._

"_You mean, you – _you're_ the one who sent me that -?" He raised a brow at her._

"_Well?" she grumbled and took (thank the heavens) his challenge. He felt and saw her magic, young and coiled up inside spring outwards, searching and feeling and living in the air around them. He let down his barriers for a moment to help the process along only to feel it quickly draw back into the witch. He felt startled for a moment at her quick control over her magic and noted that it would help in the future._

_She sighed in defeat and looked crushed for a moment. Letting the girl gather together the broke pieces by herself, he fiddled with his wand, wondering if it would be too rude to reheat his tea in front of his hostess._

_After what felt like an eternity and a day, she finally spoke; her voice much more somber and tight. "So…I will die?"_

"_We all die in the end, Miss Granger. It is a simple fact."_

"_I…I will become a death eater, then?" He felt an echo ring in his ears before dismissing it._

"_No, not _a_ death eater." She looked at him quizzically as he waved away her inquires._

"_You will become _The_ Death Eater. The only one of her kind."_

"_What?"_

"…_In time, you will understand that there was a difference between one death eater and the rest. The Death Eater of the Dark Lord's did exactly what the title states. The rest of us were mere copies and followers. Ma – The Death Eater was an equal, sometimes superior, with the Dark Lord."_

"_What – how is that…?" He gave her a smile, full of sharp teeth and a wry twist of thin lips._

"_You will find out in due time, Miss Granger. After all, The Death Eater – that is _you_."_

* * *

TBC

Give a round of applause to the beta that got chapter one running (because no one likes reading grammar mistakes), **silverbirch**! (Who writes very nice fics, by the way.)

And about that 14-year time-skip…well, she _did_ mention she was traveling about. Let's just say she was learning up the history she missed, went about to establish her existence, got some finances, and cleared any legal tiffs and other entirely _boring_ and dry gunk no one wants to read about. Time skips? Hell yea I abuse them.

And the ending scenes that provide some sort of background for the relationship between Hermione and Severus (he just can't escape the teaching biz, sucks, I think) won't be in a rigid order because that'd be boring.

Man. Writing Snap is _hard_. Writing Tom/Voldemort will be harder. And writing Mary-Bell will be interesting. Ahaha. So, anyone knows any insults Snape would say to Hermione, besides the usual, that is?


	3. 2

In the Beginning

In the Beginning

Summary: After Time Travel with a twist. A man who should have died helps a girl that had died years ago. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape and their role in a war that, for them, cannot end. A story on how The Death Eater was born.

AU

Broken-Handed has inserted a disclaimer.

_Will be slow to update_ – Tom is such a funny fellow.

* * *

**2 - Stepping Stones.**

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**.**

**.**

Tom's existence had always been defined with a simple word: Orphan. He was Orphan Tom Marvolo Riddle, resident of one Stockwell Orphanage.

How he hated it.

It was only when he discovered how to fully use his unnaturalness – his talent, his _power_, that he started to feel important. In less than a year, the shelves of his rundown highboy were stuffed full of trophies from the others and all the little girls and little boys, even the hard-faced matrons were dancing to his tune. He had felt invincible, and best of all, _he was someone_. During his first eleven years, he learned how to make girls cry with only a word and how to make boys squeal in pain with only a mere _thought_ about his hate for them. He learned how easy adults were to trick – how blind to their own weakness they were in the presence of a child. He used his quietness to his advantage when stealing and his odd stares to cow the other orphans. But most of all, he learned how to talk. When he smiled up to the matrons and told his fib, even butter couldn't melt in his mouth. And he loved every single minute of it. The fear, the hate, the foul play – he reveled in it and felt that that was how the world worked.

He was invincible.

And then Albus Bloody Dumbledore knocked on his door and in the process, managed to collapse his tidy little world and shrink his oversized shadow by pushing him into the light of Magical world. And then Tom was born again – filled with even more spite and jealousy then at infancy. He remembered jogging by Dumbledore's side to match his fast pace, all the while letting his eyes soak up the images around him. He had always known he was poor, but to see gold – _gold!_ – dropping out of other's hands, to see them toss _silver_ at beggars as if they were mere pennies, he had never felt so much like a wretched urchin as he did then. He was reminded of a time when he was a poor, unmentionable boy. And as he clung onto the professor's robes as they rode down the depths of hell with only a devil-like goblin as a guide, he felt weak, and that was how his resentment for this new, beautiful world started. This world that he wanted, _needed_, turned him on his head and into the dirt with a single _swish _and _flick_ of a wand.

And the magic! Ah, the magic, the power the adults wielded like it was nothing, the ability to manipulate, to cast harm on others, the mere thought of that power being his was intoxicating – the one thing that mattered most, filled his mind for the rest of that summer. Magic, he found, would be the ticket out of his Orphan identity – he would _be something_, not just some runt of an orphan no one wanted! He would use his magic and erase his worthless self – the sniveling weakling that had clung to Dumbledore all the while in Diagon Alley. He would destroy that disgusting part of him.

And then he boarded the Hogwarts Express and felt truly small and insignificant. If Dumbledore brought his world down, the students, the _purebloods_, saw it fit to amble by and crush it under their heels into extra fine powder. They had sneered at him when they saw his second-handed robes and mocked him when he tried to charm them. It hadn't worked – years of using fear and malice to control others his age only distorted his image when he tried to be kind – his acting skills was in an urgent need of a fine polish. Once again the magical world shunned him, mocked him and his upbringing. And once more, his hate for the 'betters' grew.

He had worked on it quickly, though. And over the few months, he was able to use his good-boy charm and talent to get most of the staff wrapped around his finger – especially that walrus of a potions professor. All seemed to be swaying to his tune – all except Dumbledore, though. He seemed to right-out dislike him, have an air of disdain when Tom was about, always favoring his Gryffindors over others, and most of all, he seemed to pick on the Slytherins, mostly on Tom himself. And the Slytherin part, always there, but never named until now, could see why: out of all the other little snakes, _he_ was the one most vulnerable. Unlike his other housemates, he had no influential guardian to protect him with politics and old blood, and he was sure Dumbledore was milking it for all that it was worth. With each questioned that he answered that went unrewarded, Tom could just feel his Professor's gloating and felt his hate and anger grow. Sometimes, he hated his house. It was not place for 'Mudblood Tom', and yet he was cast off there anyways. But Tom was never an idiot; if he wanted power, he would have to be where it was, even if it sent him gritting his teeth and wishing for more books on how to hex and jinx properly. If only…

So after a year of taunts and sneers and being _belittled_, he returned to his orphanage, which was ironically, his haven. When he stepped into the magical world, he was nothing but a poor mudblood. When he crossed to the lot where Stockwell stood, his status grew, but it didn't comfort his like it should have. He felt like a sham and most of all, he felt like _nothing_. All those years of finally getting the other children to properly fear and obey him – all for him to want to throw it away, to do anything to gain such status in the _better_ world, the magical one.

He hated his new world. And yet he craved it with such a fervor, it sometimes scared even him.

Now, here suddenly, another magical being stood tauntingly in front of him, her wand out in the open. It was obvious to him that she was a _something_ to his nothing.

Tom eyed her, suddenly wary. The only time another magical being had stopped by his orphanage had been that blasted Dumbledore, and Tom had learned throughout his school year how conniving the old coot was – he did not wish to meet another _'higher up'_ with hidden agendas. A bit pathetic it was, to almost wish the opportunity to escape Tom Riddle the Orphan and become Tom Riddle the Wizard away. It also did not help that Dumbledore had greeted him in a very similar manner. Best be curt and just hoped she left, he supposed – he had much to think about, especially how to gain a good footing in his house, after all. Yet, the incessant hiss made him pause his consideration and look again into pale, yet surprisingly dark, brown eyes, vaguely noting that a young looking snake was curled quite comfortably around the stranger's neck.

Hmm. Eyes that thankfully didn't twinkle like Smith's annoyingly broken nightlight and apparently, she favored reptiles. Maybe she wasn't the same as bloody Dumbledore.

Maybe.

He saw her smile again and he sneered at her words. "Normally, the greeted would return the favor, Mr. Riddle. I will let it slide, as you do not know me properly yet."

"Well then, who are you?" he snapped, rising to his feet in challenge. Her smile morphed into a smirk and he felt the hairs of his arms rise – he had seen _that_ smile before, on the older students in his house whenever they verbally sparred. Whenever they mocked and jeered at him. He hated that smile, as if anyone could trick _him_.

"My, what selective hearing you have. I've already told you my name, Mr. Riddle." The eleven-year-old scowled, secretly scolding himself – he should have seen that.

"Well then, Miss _Mary-Bell_," and what a peculiar name that was, "what are you doing here?" _How do you know me?_

"I've missed it, you see. When you got your letter – I feel that I should have been there to at least congratulate you on taking your first steps into your heritage." He stopped at that with some alarm. Did she mean…

"Heritage – what – you mean I'm _not_ a mudblood?" She seemed amused at that.

"Of course not. I wouldn't be here if you were." He cocked an eyebrow. So she was a pureblood superior…?

"But I am half-blood, at the very least." At her nod, he ventured onto another, almost forbidden train of thought. "You…you wouldn't happen to be a…a relative, would you?" It was pathetic, really, how he still had the childish hope that someone would take him away, even after all these years he felt fury and vengeance at being abandoned.

"Dear me – no. Not at the slightest, Mr. Riddle." Her brief look of alarm made him draw back. What was so wrong with being related to him?

"Then why in the world would you be here, _Miss Mary-Bell_?" he sneered, wondering how to escape this odd woman without losing any more face. He had already lost the little verbal spar and his pride at admitting his vulnerabilities.

"Selective hearing – we must work on that, Mr. Riddle." Oh, her taunting was so infuriating!

"_Sorry _then. Was there anything else you wanted with an orphaned half-blood like _me?_" Hmm. Half-blood, he would have to look up his roots when he got the chance – perhaps his magical half had a history and certain amount of pedigree he could use…

This time she snapped her eyes to his, her full attention on him. "Do not think so little of yourself, Mr. Riddle – it does not befit someone of your line."

"What?" he mumbled back, surprised. Was she implying that he was born into a family of _importance? _Was he some bastard then, could he use this to his adva–

"You are special, Mr. Tom Riddle, and I felt it prudent that someone told you this early on. A shame that it wasn't a year ago…but I hope you'll accept my olive branch all the same." At this, she plopped her snake around his neck and he had to blink in surprise. No one had ever given him a gift before…

"Special?" he raised an eyebrow. "I don't think being a bastard warrants this, ma'am." Still, he raised his hand to stroke her scales, a bit mollified that his new pet was a snake – _they_ liked him, at least.

"Silly young man," she murmured lightly. "You will grow up to be something great because of your blood and magic – why ever would I _not_ want to help? It would be foolish of me to not seek your friendship. Your classmates are quite pitiful, if they do not sense your power…"

"Power?" he retorted, a bit surprised. Sure he found out that he possessed a unique ability in snake-talk and showed a bit of talent towards wandless magic, but he was sure that his other classmates had the same level of magic as he – that they were merely hiding it better. But…he remembered the twinkling eyes suddenly turning wary, the only other magical being to know of his 'home'.

"Why should I believe you? Sent by that old coot, no doubt."

"No need to be rude to me, young man. I merely came to give you a gift for being accepted into the Slytherin House; nothing wrong with treating those following in their ancestor's steps, hmm?" He resisted the urge to growl – again she was dangling his family's past in front of him and refusing to help! How infuriating!

"Who _are_ you, then? I will pretend that you're not a lackey of Dumbledore – but I want a good explanation."

"Like I said, Tom Riddle. My name is Mary-Bell." He huffed and gently grasped the snake. He had found out that even _mentioning_ parseltongue made others jumpy – maybe it would scare her and make her go away. So he could think. The conversation held a deeper depth then he what could see right now, and he was curious and wanted to evaluate it.

"_Who is she?"_ The young snake paused to regard him with a _look_, of all things.

"_You can speak. So, you will be my new master? The woman there, she had mentioned this." _At this, he almost jerked back in surprise – most snakes weren't as intelligent as this!

"_Yes, well, I am. Now, perhaps you can tell me who she is…?"_

"_An old master. She told me that someone that can speak will be my real master – it is good that she did not lie. I would have bitten her had she lied."_ Told…he cast a quick glance, only to see her looking on with fascination.

"_She…speaks, too?"_

"_No. But I know human tongue. I have magic in me – I am smart."_

"_So you are…_what_ is she then?"_ For all that she was smart, she was still a beast and simple worded questions would be needed. Besides, his textbooks had mentioned that magical snakes usually did not take well to just any sort of wizarding folk – this Mary-Bell was growing into such an annoying mystery.

"_Not snake, but human – a strange one. She is…not right, but still alive – very strong. She would have to be very strong, I suppose. I am glad she gave me to you. You are strong and right."_ Now he was confused. Ignoring his new companion for now, he turned back to Mary-Bell.

"You are not here on Dumbledore's orders."

"Was I ever?" she retorted with a frown. It did not go unnoticed by Tom.

"I asked her, and she told me you…" he trailed off, feeling a bit silly. It didn't seem quite right to say that a snake told him that she was 'wrong', after all. "…you told her I was the new master." They both ignored his pause.

"Correct, Mister Riddle."

"But…but _why_?" _Why did you come _now_, to confuse and annoy me – why?_

"Luckily your intelligence tends to be above the norm, though I worry for your hearing abilities. I trust you to figure the puzzle out yourself. You are special, Mister Riddle – very, very special. Your blood sings with it – the power."

"So you just wanted to buy me a gift – do you expect something in return in the future?" he sneered back.

"Of course I do, I am human – why should I be any different?" At that, he didn't know what to feel. With a school year's worth of damn-all twinkling stares that _meant_ something and being surrounded by his housemates' jeers, it was almost refreshing to hear her bluntness. Almost.

"Then what do you want?"

Once again her smile was sharp and he held a breath "I want you to be great, Tom Marvolo Riddle – great. And I will help you into that greatness." He looked at her, wondering at her honest words and conviction.

"Help?" He should have told her he didn't _need_ help – but she was one of the few who didn't call him a 'little boy' nor did she have twinkling eyes that saw his twisted soul. And she had given him a _snake_, which ought to show that she wasn't useless, actually knew how to get what she wanted…but he was only eleven, so, why in the world…

"Oh yes, help. It's always best to have friends in high places, don't you see? And it'll benefit us _both_. Think of it as my duty." Duty…well he was a Slytherin, if she wanted to lend him a helping hand for almost nothing (he was already planning to be _something_, anyways), why not? He could always withdraw in the future.

"Well then, Mary-Bell. Thank-you for the snake."

"Of course." His last look at her informed him that she held a lazy, triumphant smile and before he could question it, she '_popped!'_ out of his sight.

It would be months before he would understand his greatness, and even longer before he would confront her for her true intentions.

But for now, he was just an eleven-year-old, for once assured of his self-worth and he had a bit of hope. Maybe entering the magical world was good, after all.

He still didn't like his housemates, though. And the burning sensation of envy whenever he saw the power the older Slytherins held probably wouldn't ever go away. Not that it mattered much, Tom still planned on punishing the fools who thought it wise to mock _him_. And he had a feeling his unease towards Dumbledore would only increase into hatred over time – after all, Mary-Bell seemed almost trustworthy and _she_ didn't like the old man, either. She seemed to be a smart woman, he supposes.

Now. What to name the snake…

* * *

_He looked away for awhile, as if to compose himself before turning back to her pleading and tired face. He distantly thought about giving the poor girl a break of sorts – her training and preparation could surly be delayed for a day or two – for once, time was his ally._

_She would not relent and he wondered why she wanted him to destroy her. "Professor Snape?"_

"_I…" He closed his eyes. No regrets, no regrets, no regrets. "…I have only seen the end of the Dark Lord's Mary-Bell, Miss Granger…I suppose I will witness your – her – beginning?" His hesitation started to worry her._

"_Severus, what will you have to do to me?" her voice seemed confident, and he bottled up ghostly memories._

"_I will have to…" Her gaze would not relent as he condemned her. "I will have to kill you, Hermione." _

_Let it gobble you up he added, silently scorning his twisted humor. He chanced a look at her to deliver the last blow._

"_Will that be alright?" Not that they could do anything about that – he could not go back, after all, and take away her duty from her. They were dancing to an already played tune after all – it was impossible to even try…_

_For her, there was nothing left to do but nod._

* * *

TBC

Give lots of love and thanks to **silverbirch**, Beta! And me finishing my homework before the crack of dawn!

Anyways, Tom. Oh Tom, I see him (when an orphan) as some sort of power hungry, yet sort of but not really clingy little kiddy that Mary-Bell just happens to come across and like. Hopefully, their bond will be awesome and evil (Mary-Bell is ultimately backstabbing Tom, after all) and just all around rich. And with the first arc being Tom all unstable-angry-teenager-y that he is…

This is going to be fun! Hahaha.

Advertisement, because we Harry Potter fans love a good fanfic, right? Right.:

Icarus, by **MarbleGlove**! Features Hermione plus Ron and Harry, Voldemort (no pairings), science, _smooth-awesome_ reading style, adventure, and suspense! And a plot that works. That's a nice touch, too. One that tops my lists, and can be reread countless times (smiles) : D


	4. 3

In the Beginning

Summary: Time Travel with a twist. A man who should have died helps a girl that had died years ago. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape and their role in a war that, for them, cannot end. A story on how The Death Eater was born.

AU

Broken-Handed has inserted a disclaimer.

Will be slow to update – OC and writing influenced by The Plaid and Daft Punk ahead xD

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**3 – Chocolate ****Crumbs.**

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The sun was setting low on Shrewsbury Lane, illuminating the dust that swam in the air of Mary-Bell's little apartment. She ignored the air that swirled around her and focused on her litter of letters. Scattered about her so, it created her fortress from the stilling world beyond. She sighed wistfully as she dragged a neatly clipped nail under each scripted word, wondering where that boy had gone.

It had been a month since Tom Riddle had last written her, and she was at a lost already.

It was a parody of a children's tale of a little boy and little girl, leaving crumbs along the road to return home. Her road to death had many forks and many didn't have a crumble or two to direct her to safety. And yet, perhaps an unknown path was better then one that did not move at all. It was during times like these that made her the most anxious – she did not have the voice in her head to coax her along, nor she did have little Tom Riddle for reassurance that her life had meaning.

She was standing on a path with nothing at all, where nothing mattered: where her actions didn't matter and she did not live for war and the world – where her fate and duty were just mere words, printed on those cheap muggle dictionaries that lined her walls. In this frozen time stream, she was _free_.

It was a terrifying, exhilarating thing.

Her duty to Tom and her confidence that this was her fate – to have less then a full soul, to have this orphan's love, to divert some evil that would destroy a world that hated things like her…

Purpose - this was all that held her form up, and when her life entered the lull of nothingness with her only companion being nothing but magic and time, the very entities that deconstructed her perfect form in the first place…these were the times where her mind betrayed her the most, and right now, she did not have that man's voice to sooth her rebellion.

These were the times when she wondered for freedom. These were the times when the burning in the pit of her stomach would threaten to destroy – the desire to _know_ was leaving a blaze in her mismatched soul.

Suddenly, the smooth parchment under her fingertips tore as the sunlight inched and leapt into her eyes, blinding her.

Momentarily distracted from her own shrill voice in her ear, another made itself heard. It was the chocolate voice that loved her so; convincing and guiding her.

It reassured her that she _was right_, and she _was good_, and that there was no other life for her, giving her warmth until it melted her insides into something sticky sweet.

Whispering and soothing, the voice was oozing into her ears and settling into the nooks of her brain, convincing her that her life was meant to be lived like _this_, where her dreamt-up 'freedom' was more trouble than it was worth.

And like always, she would believe the voice in her head, her fail-safe.

Because if she didn't, what could she trust?

* * *

It was well past noon when Calvin Rivers finally returned with lunch Wednesday. The odd bookshop was nestled between a shady apothecary and a run down wand-repair shop, and as he arrived, he shivered to get rid of the winter chill. It was nearly Spring, thankfully, and he could not wait to stroll down the markets with just a light robe. He flicked his wand as he opened the door, changing the sign to the welcome side before entering. The rusty bell oscillated, but made no sound as the glass door swung close, leaving the old bookstore dimly lighted. Entering further in, he passed rows of texts, all lined up and jammed onto every available self that he wasn't surprised that all that held them up were his spell-o-tape and spells. Old Mr. Splink, the owner, had taken him in after realizing just one clerk was not enough – but Rivers suspected the old man wanted an errand and repair boy instead.

By the only visible window was the counter, and sprawled in a grotesque fashion on top of it was their only woman employee. It was strange to see a woman holding a job during their times, but he suspected Splink had a soft spot when it came to the younger ones, especially the young ladies that rarely graced the shop.

He studied Mary-Bell for a moment, and wondered what sort of life she led. She was nice and pretty enough; and he remembered the boss saying how she had traveled before settling here. It even seemed like she had a pen pal of sorts, though it had been a while since he had last seen an owl by here. He supposed that it was the fact that she had such worldliness about her and lived on her own that made him a bit wary. He could not pin any other reason to the chill that went up his spine every time he saw her form. After all, it _was_ rare to see such a woman walking the streets – head held high with no one but herself to support her. Odd as Mary-Bell was, she certainly had an interesting air about her, and he was happy enough to have her as a coworker.

The heap of body stirred, startling him out of his musings and reminding him of his errand. Coughing a bit, he set the doggy-bag down and started to unpack while he kept an eye on Mary-Bell.

She stretched before blinking at him with a pleasant smile. "Hello, Calvin. Was there another crowd today?"

He scowled as he recalled the scene at the pub, "You wouldn't believe it either, Mary-Bell! I swear the pub's at its limit with all those expansion charms on it – I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Tom's spells snap tomorrow, throwing everyone into a loop!"

"Then be thankful that tomorrow the shop is closed!" He smiled at that.

"You're right about that! It'll be a perfect time to nip into the Muggle world for some shopping – it's amazing how cheap it is over there because of the war."

"Oh?" He nodded, not noticing that she had put down her meal to turn to the window behind them.

"Oh yes, you see, Ashley hates to go out of Diagon Alley to shop alone, so she insists on me following her out to the Muggle shops. She's convinced that a bomb will drop on her head without me there. Just last week…" he trailed off when he heard a growing '_taptaptap_' noise, and wasn't surprised at how quickly Mary-Bell moved to get the owl. Before Christmas, it had happened often enough that he no longer took offense. It seemed she sometimes even abandoned a customer when _that_ owl appeared with a letter in tow.

He hid a grin as she nearly glowed in excitement. He had figured that her friend was very important, and was a little curious as to why this letter took so long to come, but he kept silent. Sliding easily out of the chair, he flicked his wand once again towards the door. It wouldn't hurt to extend the lunch break a bit longer, now would it?

Turning back to her, he caught her eye as she finished reading and commented, "Is your friend alright? I take it that everything's fine now?" She gave him a strange look when he used the word 'friend', but he ignored it as the smile on her face grew.

She tapped the side of her head twice. "Oh yes, everything's very fine right now." He gave her some privacy as she reread the message, opting to fiddle with the sign at the front.

Through the stained glass, he saw hoards of men, women, and children move through the streets as the sky above them darkened. He sighed as the distant sounds of sirens rang on the other side and hoped those drills the Muggles were always doing would be less frequent in the future.

* * *

She had ignored Rivers as she picked up the sound of a mail owl. Turning, her insides quivered as she recognized the owl's crest. Hogwarts. Tom.

And just like that, she was reborn.

_Dear Mary-Bell,_

_I write this after careful consideration. It has been months since I have written to you, and I feel that my research has grown to fruit –_

_On our first meeting, you had hinted to my lineage, bribed me with Brandersnatch, and offered your services to me._

_By your fifth letter, you've refused to answer my questions, and continued to taunt me of my origins while slipping dark arts books into my arms. Do you still have the burns from that cursed response, I wonder?_

_None the matter – had you not jeered at my efforts, had you not taunted and _looked down at me_, I would never have seen my potential._

_My potential when enraged – the power that I experience, it is indeed intoxicating._

_But I digress – had you not angered me so, not driven me so, I would never have found out, even believed how special I truly am – I am the equivalent to a God, you once wrote to me. I have a destiny great and worthy of a God's, you once told me._

_And now I see. _

_I name myself,_

_Tom Marvolo Riddle,_

_Descendant of Salazar Slytherin,_

_Heir to Hogwarts._

She drew her head back to laugh even as Rivers returned from the front, even as another voice in whispered nonsense into her brain.

The wheels of time and fate and all that should be damned were starting to turn again. She had found her breadcrumb.

_Dear Tom Riddle,_

_Have you heard of the Chamber of Secrets?_

_Like magic, even fairy tales can exist._

_M.B._

_

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_

_It had been weeks since she had agreed to be an unknown martyr for the war, and they were both still on edge with each other. Really, she should have expected it – he still disliked her and she was still suspicious of all this dark magic they would perform on _her_. Trust would not come so easily. Trying to dissuade herself of such thoughts, she started to rummage around his notes, automatically checking for errors._

_A chill had taken place in her spine as Hermione reviewed Snape's equations. It was a warm day, and she had cracked the windows open to let the air in. She started to regret it as outside noise filtered into the workspace and distracted her already fraying mind._

"_Granger?" She looked up, and indignation started to take root. Slowly rising from the floor, she stalked up to him to throw the parchment into his face._

"What_ are you trying to pull, Snape?" The tall man ignored her hissing in favor of retrieving his research. Taking a quick look, he frowned._

"_You are right – the equations truly don't balance with the hellebore."_

"_That's not what I meant!"_

_He gave her a questioning look in return._

"_You – you're going to use compulsion!" Dear gods, the girl was so much like Minerva! Severus wondered if she was just as easy to rile up._

"_I fail to see the problem." _

"_It – it's dark magic!" seeing his disbelief, she quickly continued, "yes, the reincarnation ritual is a necessity, but this isn't! It's inhumane, not to mention, _illegal_."_

_He scowled at her logic "You're obedience to the law has always been left much to be desired, but I have always felt it was due to your Gryffindor vanity, not stupidity. 'Illegal' or not, the compulsion is our insurance." He paused before swinging back to her – true, he had resigned himself long ago to the notion, but…"you…you think Mary-Bell is _human_?"_

_She sniffed in defense. "From what I gathered, she bled the same and felt the same as us. And I thought she would know what to do already – after all, she – _I_ – know what's needed to be done."_

"_Have you not reviewed the notes I've given you? Reincarnation – no matter what form, you arrogant twit, will produce a different person – one with its own mind – own morals. True, you will be the vessel and core aspects will remain, but that doesn't make her _mind _the same! You're daft to think that – no human, impersonation or not, will ever follow commands so easily – it is our nature to rebel, and, although not fully part of humanity, Mary-Bell will be no different."_

"_But –"_

"_I wonder sometimes how you successfully survived the war with such a naïve mentality – luck can only get one so far. Though, I suppose Potter is the deviation…" he interjected smoothly, sending her into a silent fit. "You should not worry about things that will no longer concern yourself – this compulsion is designed to reward her when she follows the timeline we've created, while subtly guiding her along the way."_

"_She is not some beast to be conditioned!" her hissing and cajoling was taking a toll on his already thin patience._

"_On the contrary – she is a tool, meant to be melded and created for the benefit for us. Cease your feeble attempts at righteousness – you lost _that_ right long ago." He snapped out the last part, making her flinch on reflex._

_As if they were back in a potions classroom, Hermione made one more stand "Your Mary-Bell, was she, was she even happy?"_

_Her question made memories awaken and dance in his mind's eye. He'd like to think so. Instead, he gathered himself together and sneered down at her._

"_Happiness, you will find, is not one of our 'necessities.'"_

_With a jarring 'pop' Hermione was left alone._

_

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TBC

Regular thanks to **silverbirch**! And of course, my reviewers – no matter how little, it always makes me smile when I see one in my inbox. I wish they'd stop changing the layout - it took me a good 20 mins to figure out where to add a new chapter, haha.

And man oh man, college applications (cries)! When I warned of slow updates, I meant it! Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate!


	5. 4

In the Beginning

Summary: Time Travel with a twist. A man who should have died helps a girl that had died years ago. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape and their role in a war that, for them, cannot end. A story on how The Death Eater was born.

AU

Broken-Handed has inserted a disclaimer.

Will be slow to update. Conspiracies are abound.

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**4 – ****In The Eyes Of Many.**

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Idle hands fiddled with a wand before setting a locking charm on the carriage door. An idle mind drifted, wanting its scaly familiar with him, even if it was too cold for a snake. He had left the crowd of students this morning and followed a few other deserters to grab an unoccupied seat before the others could, and wanted to make sure it kept that way. It had taken awhile, but he had found an unlocked carriage near the back of the station. It was a bright April morning, and the young teen frowned, wondering how long it would take before the rest of the students finished breakfast – it had been quite some time since he last saw Mary-Bell, and he was getting impatient.

Trying to distract his mind, he smoothed out and reread a letter, his eye following the familiar script. It had been a week ago since Mary-Bell had requested a meeting, and he did not want to disappoint. It was normally the other way around: with Tom ordering for book after book on a subject, and with Mary-Bell working at one of the more…lenient…of book stores, she was happy to oblige; at times, she even slipped books on different subjects into the mail. Yet, on the rare occasions she _did_ ask for something, Tom would follow, already knowing it would be for him. Tom still remembered the fist time she had told him so – how she lived for Tom Riddle, and his rise in the magical world. That conviction and wide smile, as if she held the world and its secrets, enamored him to her. It was as if she held everything and was presenting it to him, as a child would to a beloved parent. A loyalty that strong…it had taken some time to get accustomed to it, but when he did, it was like a bird being taken to flight – an irresistible concept. Mary-Bell had convinced Tom her life was his – she was a being made for his growth into something special. Something _powerful_.

It sent sparks of electricity down his spine every time he thought about it.

A muffled sound caught his attention, bringing him from his musings, only to find that his hands were clenching the parchments in excitement. Glancing out the window, he saw a mass of students, both younger and older, approach the carriages in enthusiasm. He smirked at them, and doubled the power of the spell on the door.

It wouldn't be long now.

* * *

Avery saw one of his year mates, the Riddle kid, veering off from the Slytherin group and heading towards the entrance doors. He noted it with some surprise, seeing as the boy barely, if ever, exercised the privilege of visiting Hogesmeade.

Observing others and taking note of their mannerisms was a bred habit for his olden family, and a sudden change by any of his year mates was an easy thing to notice.

Tom Riddle. It was a rather common, _mudblood_ name, something that made the others dismiss and jeer at him on sight, but as time went on, several different opinions sprung forth on the Slytherin abnormality.

His fellow Slytherins were still at odds with Riddle; the students belonging to more powerful families treated him as if he were a stain in the corner of a white carpet: easy to ignore, though hard to remove.

Others, especially the younger ones, went out of their way to _avoid_ him; there was something not quite believable with the way the mudblood was recently carrying himself around – one would have to be severely slow if they couldn't see the dangerous confidence he seemed to have.

The sly, cautious minds felt the need to offer an alliance of sorts, no doubt wanting a piece of his blatant magical strength, and the way their sisters and other female friends continued to notice his charms on a weekly basis gave them nerves as well.

Those that belonged to less prestigious, though still notable bloodlines, including Avery himself, were content to watch him as he grew into his magic. And what Avery noticed, frightened him.

For a mudblood, his growing knowledge of the wizardly world seemed limitless. For the past year or so, Avery absently noted how the boy was buried in a tome, a different one daily. And if the titles were any indication, Tom Riddle was not researching on just any magic – he was learning _dark magic_, bad magic. Sometimes, Avery swore he was dabbling into the blackest of powers, the _wrong magic_.

Magic that Tom Riddle could easily use, if the powers of Riddle's spells told Avery anything.

Coupled with the fact that he seemed to have a _source_ for all this (the familiar sight of Riddle receiving and returning the books to an owl was not lost on the Slytherins), and the way he recently answered mockeries with dangerously cold _smiles_ that promised _something_ made Avery suspect that Riddle was doing more than just _dabble_ in the wrong sort of knowledge.

The growth in Riddle was not lost to the other inhabitants of Hogwarts, either. Ravenclaws, especially, started seeking his presence, as if curios as to how he accumulated all his resources. Hufflepuffs, those cowards, either scurried away from the fourth year, or offered shy friendships, as if wanting to avoid any sort of wrath he was capable of giving. And the Gryffindors, those idiots, either saw through his charm or fell for it – some were aware that he was not quite _normal_, but most of those imbeciles thought he was 'an alright sort of bookish chap'. And teachers – he had almost every one of them, including the headmaster, wrapped around his finger. Tom was their golden boy, their little pride and joy.

Admiration, caution, acknowledgment, fear, and most of all, anticipation – the way the pulse of the Hogwarts' student body seemed to unconsciously change when Riddle was around was nothing short of astounding.

Avery was not stupid – he could clearly see the wave Tom Riddle was capable of making in their warring magical world. He pictured how many would drown in the process.

What a frightening thought.

* * *

Calvin was leaning against a pole, wondering where in the world this Tom Riddle fellow was. Children from the school were already filtering in the village, and Mary-Bell had assured him that her friend would be among the first to arrive. He sighed when he remembered the fact that this _friend_ was a mere teenager, barely old enough to hold a wand properly, in his opinion. It was only because he'd be able to meet a friend of hers that he agreed to lead Tom Riddle to the shop as Mary-Bell finished tidying up. He was curious, after all, to find out what sort of friends the woman had. A promised of free drinks for him and his Ashley helped too.

It had been nearly half a year since the Minister responded to Germany's blitzes on England – proclaiming that Hogesmeade would be expanded from a quaint village to a safe haven for the many shops that wanted to evacuate Diagon Alley. With Dumbledore insistence that Grindelwald wanted Hogwarts and the surrounding area be kept intact, many shop-keepers took full advantage of the unexpected boon from the enemy. A week or two ago after the attacks on English cities started, Mr. Splink, not wanting to be another casualty, packed up his stock and dragged his two employees to a temporary shop past Dervish & Bangs. Calvin and Mary-Bell had barely finished unpacking before the owner disappeared back to the city, most likely to fetch his daughter and her husband now that his books were shelved.

With a stretch, he walked towards a bench to make himself more comfortable, only to be stopped by a young lad. Noting his groomed mop of hair and green tie, he took a guess.

"You Tom Riddle?" At the younger man's nod and introduction, Calvin started walking, gesturing to do the same.

"Follow me. It's a bit of a walk, but it shouldn't take too long." It wasn't true if they followed the main roads, but he thought taking the long way around would do better for his curiosity.

For awhile, the pair walked in silence, only to be broken with simple comments and general discussions, and from what Calvin could see, Riddle would grow into a handsome and bright man, with sharp eyes and a face that could break many a lady's heart. He chuckled at the thought and caught the younger man's attention. Taking the opportunity, he tried for another conversation. Hopefully the one he wanted.

"So, Tom, how do you like Hogwarts so far? I was home schooled, but my wife, Ashley, went when she was a lass, and from her stories, I hear it's rather fun? Is it true that all the walls are covered with crazy paintings?"

There was a pause before he nodded. "Yes, though, since my dorms are in the dungeons, I don't meet many of them, Mr. Rivers."

"Dungeons, huh? I bet those teachers of yours get into a lot of fuss with all those heating charms they got to cast during winter!"

"I suppose."

"You don't have to be shy around me! Any friend of Mary-Bell's a friend of mine, in my opinion – she's a very worldly woman, if you ask me."

"Worldly? Has she traveled before?" Ah yes! Calvin beamed as the kid, half his age, took the bait.

"Yes, she went all over the world, she told me. Well, didn't you know?" Seeing the frown, he laughed, hoping to dispel the bad vibes coming from his charge. "Then again, she doesn't talk much about her travels – isn't it interesting how she's been almost everywhere?"

"…It would explain where all her knowledge comes from."

"Ah, true! And it could also explain…well, yes, I guess her worldliness would explain many things, heh?" His laughter died off as he suppressed the urged to squirm under the kid's stare.

"What do you mean?" _Oh_, Calvin realized, feeling unease blossom in his gut. He didn't mean to insult anyone here. Perhaps he was a bit too hasty?

"I, er, I think she's a bit, she's unique, huh?"

The boy didn't answer.

Calvin tried to shrug nonchalantly and quickly gestured into the air, "I mean, what do you think of Mary-Bell?" He continued on, not letting Tom answer, "I think she' a good sort of person and all, but don't you think, don't you think that she's a bit _off_?"

"Off? Different, you mean?" The older man nodded quickly.

"Yes! She doesn't…she seems different from me and you! She gives me the chills sometimes!" he whispered the last part to Tom quickly, as if afraid he would get caught. Before Tom could reply, they had reached the shop. The front door opened to reveal the subject of their conversation hauling an armful of books. Despite what he had said earlier, Calvin headed towards his co-worker to help, leaving Tom to ponder their conversation.

When Mary-Bell handed him more books to research, their eyes met and he couldn't help but want to look away.

He left the shop for home soon after that, letting the little seed of curiosity Calvin had planted take root.

* * *

Books, from the innocent to the dark, were lined up in front of her, making her pale brown eyes darken in anticipation. These were the things that would fill Tom Riddle's mind up, and it was all because of her.

Her. A being masquerading as another normal person, made of only flesh and bone that was fueled by another's convictions and magic. She was shaping the boy into what she wanted. What the voice wanted. What the magic wanted.

In a way, Tom Riddle was becoming a bit of hers, a bit of her legacy. For all the mild dislike she felt for the boy, she couldn't help but grow to like him.

It was hard to hate a creation one took part in molding, after all.

Mary-Bell relished the excitement racing up her spine as someone whispered its consent into her ear. She didn't know why, but lately, she felt like a coiled spring, ready to vault into the next road, the next phase of The Plan. She, she could do anything.

Her suppressed magic seemed to buzz, as if the count down for something monumental was nearing.

Tom Riddle was slowly shifting into needing her. Depending on her. Wanting her.

And with every passing day, with every passing moment, her influence over the boy would grow and grow, until she fully integrated herself into that boy's head.

Sooner, rather then later, a new, better, _necessary_ Tom Riddle would become her creation.

Voices, both male and familiar, grew louder – a cue to gather her horde of tomes.

As she pushed the door open, she caught sight of her future, clad in a winter cloak and green emblem, steely eyes darting towards hers. Her smile grew.

Hers. Sooner, rather then later, she would take part into creating something truly dangerous. She would be one of the few contributors to fate.

Hers.

How…marvelous.

* * *

It had reached noon when Tom Riddle left, and Calvin was curious to note that, although the two did catch up a bit, the teen still left rather quickly, as opposed to the long conversations they seemed likelier to have. Strange, but then again, he had a suspicion it was due to their earlier conversation.

He tried not to feel too guilty about it.

Glancing at his colleague, he slid over to her side with a friendly smile.

"Your Tom Riddle chap is a nice boy." Her smile glowed in return, giving him confidence to continue. "Very bright, too."

"Oh yes – he's quite ambitious. He will go far, don't you think?"

"With a quick mind like that? I'm very sure. It'll be interesting to see how he grows!" He spied her playing with a spare bit of parchment. "What's that, Mary-Bell?" Brown eyes glanced down.

"This? Nothing much. Mister Riddle wants to meet his parents, you see. He's an orphan, you know."

"Orphan heh? It's quite rare for magical parents to abandon their blood, too."

"Mr. Riddle is not pureblood."

"Oh." He shrugged, he himself, was a half-blood, after all. "You're going to track the Muggles down, then?"

"Of course." She paused before tucking the sheet into a pocket.

"I can do anything."

* * *

_He saw her there, leaning against the transfigured wall and giving him a look that spelt uncertainty and hesitation and a sort of want. The sweat against her brow gained from their duel had long ago evaporated, leaving her skin chilled and clammy._

"_Professor."_

"_Miss Granger?"_

"…_You are aware that these past few months, the only person I have seen is you? I – not even Harry and Ron – I don't even see them anymore."_

"_Your point?" She regarded him warily before continuing._

"_I do not think it's good for me. My mental health, that is." Rolling her shoulders, she coughed, "I am spending a vast majority of my time with a man who will kill me in the end for a war that ended almost a decade ago – I am surprised I am not insane yet." He silently thought that she would become a sort of insanity after traveling time, but chose not to mention that to her. Better for her to find _that_ out herself._

"…_In retrospect, I have spent countless hours near a chatty know-it-all who tries her best to slow down needed training." She flashed him a smile and he wondered when that started to happen. Time in her house seemed to stretch and morph, distorting what was proper and what was the norm. He supposed that was her fate ever since she fiddled and taunted time in her third year. _

"_Still, this continued formality is not healthy – I'm about to go spare here! I very well feel awkward enough calling you my professor. As if I'm in a never ending session of Potions!"_

"_What would you have me do then, Miss Granger?" he saw the longing in her eyes and suddenly understood. It didn't quell the dread, though._

"_Please…it's been weeks and I feel like…like I forgot how my name sounds like already." He sighed at her hunger for trite comforts and social wants. He was neither her friend nor companion; he was her teacher and condemner._

"_In a few months then, you will forget it all, because with the spell, you will have to take on a new alias."_

"_I thought I was going to become part of a list of ingredients for the ritual instead." She retorted wryly._

"_You will be part of something new." He answered back. "I suppose, though, you will have a vague account of your present self – because you will need to ensure that your rebirth will happen in order for this to happen. The spell – I do not know the full extent of its power, of how much you will remember. Though, from what I recall, you seemed to remember quite a bit from your current life."_

_Her brow furrowed and he nodded in understanding. "What?"_

"_Time travel tends to muck about with logic." He offered and she nodded, having felt that once, long ago. Pushing her bushy mane back, she took a breath before steering the conversation back to her main point._

"_I want you to call me by my name, sir. Just as I will call you by yours from now on."_

"_Habits are hard to break, Miss Granger."_

"_I know, that's why we should start now, Severus." Her tone made a memory squirm in recognition and he sighed. She bit her lip. "You…you don't have to if you don't want to. But I will still call you by your first name."_

"_On occasions." He relented, massaging his already growing headache._

"_Of –" A knocking on her door made her pitch forward onto the balls of her heels, wand at ready while he stepped away from the window, hiding from view._

"_Hermione, Hermione! I know you're in there!" They shared a look before she mouthed a 'Harry'._

"_Blimey, Hermione, I don't know what's got your knickers in a twist, but you shouldn't lock yourself in like this!" 'Ron' she identified silently. He nodded and prepared to apparate._

"_Tomorrow, I should be free again, Severus." She didn't stammer or jumble his name and he wondered if her recklessness and strange and out of place courage will help her survive. Seeing the door about to be burst, he felt a bit of pity for the trio of his past woes._

"_Then tomorrow, Hermione."_

_He silently chuckled at her expression and left with a distinct 'pop' as the front door finally gave way and opened. Two pairs of suspicious eyes combed the area, before settling onto the irate witch in front of them._

"_Hermione!" Harry finally called out, his wand pulled out with a frown. "Did someone just leave?"_

"_Is it a bloke?" Ron added, his eyes now glaring holes into her wall, as if to lure the man out._

"_Oh god…" Hermione grumbled, hands rubbing her eyes in exasperation._

* * *

TBC

And the reason for this chapter being so good? Thanks to **silverbirch**, of course! And the reasons why I'm so excited? I might get to read reviews (not so subtle, am I?) – especially from my loyal readers. And my birthday – in a few days! And college applications are over!

Good to see the New Year, right!


	6. 5

In the Beginning

Summary: Time Travel with a twist. A man who should have died helps a girl that had died years ago. Hermione Granger and Severus Snape and their role in a war that, for them, cannot end. A story on how The Death Eater was born.

AU

Broken-Handed has inserted a disclaimer.

Will be slow to update. So slow, it makes the water flow in a swamp look like rapids Hurray.

* * *

**5 – Much in Little People**

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**.**

A quarter of the world away from a sleeping London, a man shivered as he closed his library doors and walked into a sunny afternoon, reveling in the shock of warmth. He rubbed his hands together and was about to smile when a tremor shook the town.

Shocked, his head shot up to see muggle inventions whirling around the Italian skies. A high pitched whirl caught him off guard and he ducked to the floor in fear as he heard an explosion.

And another.

And another.

Thanking Merlin himself when the tremors paused, he stumbled back to his home and barred the doors, hoping the wards would protect them all. With trembling breath, he peered out one of his many tall windows.

He thought that if he squinted hard enough, he could see past the frightening aero battle and make out his Little Owl, carrying his two most precious texts in its talons.

He did not have time to finish his prayer for a safe journey when another bomb hit, shaking his wards to its foundations.

* * *

Below the Hogwarts dungeons, age-old stasis spells shifted before shattering into thousands of shards. The grating sound of stone on stone filled a large chamber, stirring stale air. A moment later, a statue moved and the room hidden behind it shimmered with thousand-year-old spells.

A boy, delirious with a mad joy hissed, his silent companion resting around his neck, waiting to meet a kin.

"_Wake-up."_

In the room, a tongue slipped out slowly, wondering what had interrupted its hibernation. Dank air that tasted of age-old magic that felt familiar and haunting was assaulting its senses. The magic smelled of a man it once knew, with enough power to raise it from the egg. Conversations, vows of loyalty and _purpose_, want and love were remembered. A master. It had remembered its master. Tall and thin, confident and eager, but in the end, it remembered a haggard and angered human, pointing his wand to it, hissing an unknown string of words.

There was nothing but darkness and slumber – dreams of human children and blood and strength and no purpose lasting for centuries.

What a lonely, maddening existence.

Muscles ripped as it felt another type of stale air enter its domain. Its interest was peaked when the air tasted of man and snake. Confused, it wondered what had woken him up. But then, but then, it heard _something_, a high pitched hiss, something it had not heard in an eternity.

"_Wake-up. Wake-up, most noble beast of the most honored house of four. Wake-up."_

It was a different voice from its master, where was he? His master…

"_Not my master…"_ It stayed put, uninterested and lonely. Its master had once spoken of others like he, those that could _speak_, though they were rare to find. The rare sort to be respected and not killed. Perhaps this was one of them, but it had no interest. Master, master…where was its master…

"_He is dead."_ It froze. Surely not – its master was a strong human, powerful and young. It was not possible…

But the chambers, once meticulously cared for, smelled like mold and dew. It smelt of neglect. It smelt…abandoned. The last memories of him were hazy, he had looked ill, cursed by human magic, but…

But its master wouldn't…he couldn't be…

"_Gone. Your master is gone. Ages ago, centuries have passed. Your master is dead."_ It hissed harshly, snapping its jaw in an attempt to make this, this _boy_ go away. Its master dead…it had waited and dreamed in an enchanted sleep – was it all for vain? His duty to protect its master and home was gone, surely. He had failed the meaning of his existence…

He was left behind – a beast of envied strength, but hollow and directionless.

"_Leave me."_ To rot away, he had nothing left…

"_No. Wake-up, most noble beast. Come to me."_

"_Dead, master is dead. No one to speak to. No one to serve. Dead. Go away, human boy."_

There was a pause, but it knew better. It could smell the boy there, thinking.

"_Are you angry?"_

"_No." _Yes, yes it was. His master was dead, and it had no way to find him…it was much too big to come out, surely.

"…_Murdered. Your old master was killed by other humans."_

"_You lie."_

"_I do not – those jealous of Slytherin killed him. He is dead – thousands of years have passed."_

"_Then all that I have known are perished. No master to love. No enemy to hate. Go away, human boy who is not my master."_

"_But I can be."_

"_Go away."_

"…_I am your master's heir."_ It paused in its mourning, letting the knowledge sink in. But an heir was not its master, was nothing more than a child…

"_Not my master. Dead. Dead, master is dead."_

"_I know the heirs of your master's killers. I can give you…purpose." _

Heirs. Heirs of its master's enemies…they were still alive?

"_I will be back another day."_ The boy had left it to contemplate its choices.

Hours later, perhaps days later, in a secret dungeon, a room behind a statue lay bare. And in the center of a massive chamber…

"_Awake. Awake. I am awake…"_

* * *

Mrs. Cole, looking years older then her age sorted through the little mail the orphanage received. Bills upon bills were shoved to the side – she already knew that a fifth of them would go unpaid. In the distance, the sirens were wailing, making her cringe and appear even more haggard then before. The war – how she hated the war.

No one wanted an orphan during these times. And the government was sending even less funds to them – as if they weren't people either! Absentmindedly, she set aside a letter from one of their older orphans, adopted now, but it was nice to hear from them now and again. She only wished the rest were such darlings – maybe then more people would want them. She filed a letter for an adoption request to read for later – a surprise, but something not unwelcomed. The meager pile was nearly sorted through when she paused and wondered at the last envelope in her hands.

No stamps and a queer type of paper – something she had seen twice in her life. It weighed heavily in her hands and she wondered what _they _wanted from her now…Hopefully not to tell her that Tom Riddle's support funds would be withdrawn – they wouldn't be able to afford such expensive schooling for the boy. No matter how much he wanted it, nor how much it was a relief when he was gone.

Hesitantly, she opened it, as if expecting an explosion of some sort. Her eyebrows rose with surprise – she couldn't recognize the neat script at all!

* * *

Calvin tried to appear uninterested as a Syrian Little Owl flew through an open window and in front of Mary-Bell. He did not comment on the way the little thing clicked its beak nervously before taking off, not even waiting for a reply or payment.

Curious. Inching forward, he peered over her shoulder, only to see a flash of purple and red before the package was covered. He coughed and shrugged at Mary-Bell.

"Can't help but be curious!"

He relaxed when she chuckled. "Curiosity is always encouraged, though not exactly healthy."

He laughed back, happy that she wasn't angry, "Don't I know it! Might be the death of me someday, I'd say!" Casting one more glance at the package, he shrugged. Knowing her, it must be those books she and Splink were so fond of.

"For Tom?"

"No. I promised to keep it safe for someone."

"Ah, from family then?" Must be one of those first edition books purebloods were so eager to have.

"From a friend, Calvin."

* * *

Tom smirked as he strode down the streets, whistling something tuneless. It was finally a Hogsmeade day, and he couldn't wait to find Mary-Bell. Upon his neck was Brandersnatch, who was happy to finally come out into the sun.

"_You are pleased."_

"_Of course_. _We are almost there._" He could not wait to tell Mary-Bell about his discovery – years of hard work finally taking fruit. He had found something she couldn't find. He was one step closer to her power – her knowledge.

"_She must be a snake charmer…_" He slowed down at that.

"_I am human, Brandersnatch_."

"_Of course. But you have magic that smells of snake – a snake and a snake charmer_." It flicked its tongue out in a lazy sort of amusement.

"_No one can charm me, snake._" At that, Branderstnatch made a sort of raspy sound before answering.

"_My master is strong._"

"_Of course."_ Tom assured, before entering the shop.

"Tom! Haven't seen you in a month or so!" He gave a polite smile as Calvin gestured Tom to come to the counter. "Almost thought you'd forgotten where we were – though Mary-Bell said you were busy with school."

"Mr. Rivers." Tom greeted absentmindedly, his eyes busy searching for Mary-Bell.

The older man floundered, wondering what to say next to this eerily quiet boy when he noticed a shimmer in the light. "Er – Tom, that, what's that?"

He got a smirk in response and Calvin wondered what made him so eager to see the young boy in the first place. "This? A gift – her name is Brandersnatch."

"How…lovely. Er, I suppose that snake of yours…is it poisonous?"

"She wouldn't bite you." Giving him a calculating glance, Tom's smile widened "are you afraid of snakes?"

"Well, a bit; brings me back to my childhood, you know. Was bitten by a few once…"

"Don't worry, she's very intelligent. Magical snakes are known to learn from their surroundings as they age." Tom gave a proud smile at this, stroking his familiar's back.

"Well, that's interesting…was it a gift from your parents?"

"From Mary-Bell."

"Mary…oh, yes!" Calvin retreated to the back at that, before coming back with a bundle of books for Tom. "She's taking a few days off, you see." Odd, this was the first time she was not there when he needed her… "…but she said that if you were to come over here, you'd need these…"

Tuning the man out, Tom reached for the texts, inspecting the titles with a bit of a frown. Calvin leaned forward to see, too.

"Looks like beginner books – starting a new class next year, eh?" Tom glared hard at Calvin before turning back to the books. He scowled at the thought of needing beginner _anything_. It wasn't like he was some toddler who needed help with first-year work! She was looking down on him!

Sensing his anger, Calvin quickly tried to distract the boy. "Er, Tom – were you looking for Mary-Bell for anything? I can give you her floo -"

"No, not anymore," With a sneer at the clerk's direction, Tom turned and left, casting away his absurd thoughts of telling Mary-Bell about Hogwart's greatest treasure…

"Wait, Tom! You forgot the books!"

* * *

Shrewsbury Lane was hidden on the border between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley with the lopsided apartments towering over wizards and witches alike. Not a very large area, it was the home to the crooked, the elderly, and a curious woman no one had ever seen save the day she moved in.

It was near midnight when said woman slammed all her windows close and turned to the badly wrapped lump on her desk with lit eyes. Distantly, she could hear a faint hum, a smooth voice that always was welcomed. It thrummed throughout the room as she tore through paper.

_To: Mary-Bell_

_Sixth Shop from the right on Pixies Street,_

_Hogsmeade_

Brown wrapping paper littered the floor while two books, one red, the other purple, gleamed in the candlelight, the titles flickering with the flames.

_Anchoring_

_Horcrux_

She shivered with delight and thought, _marvelous_.

* * *

"_How is the wand?" It had been a few days since he had given her it, and they had just finished dueling. She bit her lower lip and searched for the correct words. _

"_I don't know…it's like it's mine, but at the same time, I _know_ it's not."_

"_Nonetheless, this wand is yours." Snape replied, reaching for a bottle of water. Why she insisted on the things, he'd never understand. Really, plastic was one of the worst inventions muggles came up with._

"_This wand is Mary-Bell's" she gritted her teeth, remembering the day he took her wand away, snapping it in four neat pieces. That was her _childhood_ he had snapped, right there._

"_Seeing as we are training you for it, I like to think it's yours."_

"_I don't even understand why she would need a wand – Mary-Bell's magic will be too dangerous to use, anyways." She shot back, ignoring Snape for a moment._

"_What is a witch without her wand? You will be able to perform magic, girl. Are you not a witch?"_

"I_ am not Mary-Bell." When he did not answer, she clenched her robes with a tight frown. "I don't know why you keep insisting I am – I'm not even a vessel of Mary-Bell. The ritual needs a soul to _breakdown_ – to make a _new_ one. Our magics are different. Our _souls_ are different."_

"_You will still be a part of Mary-Bell. Your soul will be what drives her."_

"_But -" He scowled_

"_Fool, do not think _any_ soul will do – who among us is so naïve? Has a foolish sense of right coupled with a decent mind that can _think_, though I must say, you certainly don't exercise the privilege much. One that can _remember_ obscene amounts of spell work and their mechanics? Who –" and he looked nauseated at the thought, "who can love Harry Potter this much to sacrifice the soul? I do believe we do not have an abundant amount of options, girl. Your drive during the war is still in you, and that will be our foundations."_

_She had never heard him insult and compliment her so much at once before. "I -"_

"_All that is Mary-Bell's soul will be what your soul _is. _It is logical to think you two are one in the same._" _She swallowed and jerked her chin up. Did he really not _understand_?_

"_I wonder if you even _have_ a soul sometimes, Severus Snape."_

* * *

TBC

I keep imagining the basilisk as this big sulky child. But really, it's this big…thing with lots of power, but aimless life. Give the directionless purpose, and you got yourself a loyal minion. Bonus points if said minion can kill people with a mere _look_.

:D

So…let me hear your theories on books everything, people who aren't fed up with the sporadic updates and still reading, that is, oh hahahahaha.

I need to study for AP tests…but I don't want tooooooooo. Oh, and I have story status on profile, if anyone thinks it's helpful. Maybe it is, who knows?

**silverbirch**! Best beta in the world!

Edit: Ah, sorry about spamming the inbox - accidentally deleted this thing.


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